Failure: A Trilogy
by SleepyBard
Summary: For what is sunk will hardly swim. -Rudyard Kipling. Trilogy. Each part has its own summary. Warnings: no wincest, rated R for language and violence, Evil!Demon!Sam, Spoilers for season 1, 2, and 3 finales, major character death but Dean comes back
1. Our One Chance to Succeed

**Title**: Our One Chance to Succeed...And We Failed  
**Author:**: **folkin_up_again**  
**Chapter**: 1/1  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairing:** Gen  
**Warning:** Sadness? Does that count? Oh, and MAJOR SPOILERS for season 2 and 3 finales.  
**Summary:**: _Time. What is time but the inability to undo past mistakes and foresee future misperceptions?_  
**Disclaimer:** Trying to convince you Supernatural is mine would be an endeavor as successful as a blind man explaining the colour red to a deaf man.  
**Author's Note:** Written before season 4.

* * *

This how the Winchester family of Lawrence, Kansas dies:

*

Sam stares, disgusted. His one arm useless, the other clutching a rusty pipe that could, would, end all this pain so easily. One blow.

Jake was down and it would be so easy to slug him, so quick and easy, and everything, all that pain Sam'd abhorred for so long…well, he'd be one step closer to closure. But at what cost?

Giving in to Yellow Eyes' sick game, that's what.

So yea, he could kill Jake. But by doing so, he'd win this game, this grotesque, bloody game that's taken so many lives, and winning would proclaim him a prize as accomplice to world dominance.

No thanks.

But at the same time…at the same time the raw feelings of hurt, betrayal, anger, sorrow, they whirled inside him, taunting him, pleading with his mind to indulge in sweet revenge.

His ambivalence hangs heavy in the air for a moment, his hand raised but reluctant to deliver, his face set in a scowl of anger. But then his hand drops, because he may be a lot of things but he will not be a murderer. At least when it's unjustified.

*

Running with Bobby, rushing and calling out his brother's name, it finally sinks in. After searching and worrying for so long, he can almost _feel_ Sam; imagines him bloody and bruised, but alive, yelling at _Dean_ for taking so long to find him, but grabbing him in an embrace at the same time, with tears in his eyes.

But it doesn't go like that.

Instead, he cries out his brother's name and feels like someone just socked him in the gut fifty times with a 10 lb weight.

Instead, _he_ runs to Sam and _he_ pulls Sam into the embrace.

Instead, _his_ tears shine in the moonlight and cascade tracks down his face.

Instead, _he's_ yelling at Sam, and at God, because _nonono, Sam, his Sammy, can't be dying_.

*

He sees Dean, hears his name called out. He begins to smile because _oh, Dean_ is here. Here in this hellhole, this playground of despair, his brother is finally here, and now things can-

And the stake rams into his back, he feels it, the pain, the splinters and jagged edges cutting through him sharply; like two mismatched puzzle pieces forced to coincide with each other.

He slumps because it just…_pain_.

He whimpers for a moment because…_agony_.

He feels arms around him and leans forward because…_Dean_.

He closes his eyes because…_light_.

Blinding light.

For a single moment, despite the pain, despite the macabre of death, despite the darkness, despite all the lost souls enveloping around them, Sam feels good for just _a single moment_. Because once again he's with Dean. They're together and with the feel of Dean's arms around him, Sam feels safe again. But finally…

He gives in to the darkness because…_death_.

*

Dean saves him. Sells his soul to the devil, but he saves him.

*

This is how it happened:

*

Sam's plastered against the wall, staring at Ruby's face with a figurative shotgun cocked and ready to just blow Sam's brains out.

But it's not Ruby and the figurative shotgun isn't really a shotgun…it's more like a machinegun.

But that's too simple. It's too easy to just kill Sam like that. He has to pay first for the sin of living, of _breathing_ fresh air because he wasn't allowed to die first but also not allowed to live happily either. Now he has to watch Dean die because Sam wouldn't _stay_ dead.

Now he has to watch in agony as beasts he can't see but sure as hell can feel rip into his brother's body. He has to gaze as his brother's arms, face, legs are slashed and bloodied. He has to beg, _fucking plead_, to one of the Devil's spawn to _'Kill me instead, let him go!'_.

And it's useless because now he also watches as Dean's eyes dim and finally go out but not down, and even now after this horrid torture of _watching_ Dean die, now he has to stare at the death as it taunts him. _This is your doing, Sam Winchester, and all because you had to be noble and not kill Ja-_

And then there's light. Same as before but still different, because this time he knows what it means. And he waits, waits and watches as some Demon spawn comes closer to him intent on killing him.

He almost wants it, almost welcomes the death because Dean's in Hell right now, and after everything Sam's done in his life, there's no doubt in Sam's mind there's a reserved place in Hell just for him, and so dying means being with Dean.

But even now, even now after everything he's had to live, and die, through, even _now_ there's no mercy for his soul. Now, when he wants it, wants the abyss and the darkness and fuck even the pain, he can't have it.

*

And the goddamn opportune moment is literally shot to hell instead of the bitch and he's screaming and he's crying and he's praying and he's fucking _sobbing his heart, emotions and what little soul he has left_ out, but nothing is bringing Dean back.

*

John Winchester Died.

He died saving his son Dean Winchester. John came back, albeit and however briefly, but he came back.

Sam Winchester died.

He died saving himself. Sam came back too though thanks to his brother.

Dean Winchester died.

He died saving his brother Sam Winchester. Dean didn't come back.

*


	2. This Place that I Go to

**Title**: This Place That I Go to...Is Where I Will Save You  
**Chapter**: 2/3  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairing:** Gen  
**Warning:** Sadness. Evil!Sam. Spoilers for Season 3 finale.  
**Summary:**: _No one will ever understand why/ Thousands of beautiful healthy young statues must fall/ Smoke and explosions surround me/ A flood of hate, it drowns me/ I hear the world like a cannon roar/ Say I can win this war/ I promise them this/ Isn't what I signed up for _  
**Disclaimer:** Dude, after that season finale, no way in hell am I claiming this shit as mine. I'm not looking for fans to harass me in my sleep. I admire your bravery, Kripke.

* * *

*

Sam has a plan. It's crude, it's sketchy, more than likely it won't work. Then again, it could.

It could.

*

The first thing he does, he takes Dean's body and stitches it- him, _him_- up. He bathes all the blood and bits of torn flesh off, then takes a needle and thread and sews all the cuts back together. Like his plan, the stitches are crude, uneven. There are a lot of flaws, just like in his plan, but for the most part, Dean's patched up.

He's gentle, soft, when he washes off the grime, especially when he gets to Dean's face. Then he pats him down, dries off all the warm water.

When he's done, he carefully, so carefully, carries Dean's body down the stairs. He's passing the cellar door, when he hears thuds and knocking, and remembers, _oh shit!_ that the father and wife are down there. He unlocks the door.

But by the time the two realize the door's unlocked and they make their way up into the kitchen, Sam's already gone.

*

He realizes it'll be a long time and so he needs a way to preserve the body. Dean's dead body.

He drives all the way to Allentown, Pennsylvania and rents out a storage space with a refrigeration room. He places a mat on the ground and puts Dean on top. He walks out of the room, and sets the temperature so that Dean's body will stay frozen to the point of preservation, but not to the point that Sam'll have to thaw out the flesh later.

*

Despite the extra time he's bought for himself, Sam still moves like a maniac, hurrying to get everything done.

*

Ever since Sam snuck Dean's body out of that house in Indiana and ditched Bobby there, Bobby's been calling Sam non-stop. Sam threw his cell phone out the window halfway through Ohio.

He ran over it with the Impala.

*

Ever since Sam deposited Dean's body in the refrigeration room, he checks it every night to- well, he's not really sure why he checks on Dean's body. Maybe just reassure himself he's still there.

About halfway through a week after Dean…_moves on_, Sam realizes refrigerating the body isn't going to work all that well, especially after seeing frostbite forming on the tip of Dean's nose.

The next day, he sneaks into a morgue and steals a couple of canisters of formaldehyde.

*

He goes to a lot of libraries. Every one in the Lehigh Valley County first, then moves to a several of the counties over. None of them are helpful and by now, it's already been almost a week and a half since Dean's untimely departure.

When it becomes eleven days, Sam makes a trip all the way to Washington D.C., to visit the Library of Congress.

He parks the car he stole – (Dean's impala is far too noticeable to be driving around in the streets, and he can't risk some hunter recognizing it and calling Bobby) – in some garage, doesn't want to have to pay a shitload of money for the day's parking. He climbs all the elaborate stairs leading up to the library itself. Once he's inside, he goes through mild security, then passes a class field trip of kids and old librarians. He bypasses the usual section of 'paranormal'; he knows the book he's looking for will be somewhere way back in storage or the basement.

He doesn't have a specific book in mind, so when he finds possible options, he takes them to a deserted table, sits down, and begins to read.

He has to go back the next day to finish them all. Most of them are useless anyway, telling him things he already knows. The second day, when he's gone through almost the entire pile, he's about to give and go sneak into Bobby's house and try to borrow a few books from him (because if anyone's going to have the right book, it'll be Bobby).

He picks up the pile of books and takes them all back into the basement he snuck into to put them away. It's when he's moving past a stack of books on a shelf on his way to leave, a stack that somehow he must have missed, that he sees it. He walks over and takes it off the shelf, runs his fingers down the spine, then turns it over to the front. He tries to read the cover but like the rest of the book, it's so worn down he can't make it out. He can, however, make out the pentagram on the cover.

He leans against the shelf and begins leafing through the book, right there in the middle of the basement. He realizes though, that it's all in there.

Everything about demonic control and even more gruesome exorcisms than he's ever imagined and information on _different kinds_ of demons and rules they have to follow. Rules.

Sam doesn't even follow rules anymore.

*

Sam hasn't felt much of anything since he cradled Dean's head in his arms and sobbed his heart out in that goddamn house in Indiana.

He feels bitter anger though that he and Bobby and Dean hadn't had this book from the beginning.

*

Sam takes the book, sneaks it out of the library by hiding it in the confines of his jacket.

He goes back to Allentown, Pennsylvania and that night when he gets back to the motel he's staying in after his nightly checking-on-Dean, he puts the book on the corner of the night table. He sits on the edge of the bed.

He practices harder, pushes himself further, than he's ever pushed himself so far in the past two weeks. And afterwards, after he's nursing his wounds and swallowing pain pills for the massive headache he's gotten, after he's laid himself in bed, he's thinking '_only a few more weeks'_ until he's ready.

To let the demons out.

*

From the day Sam brings home that book, this is Sam's daily routine, the one he performs everyday for 39 days before he does the unthinkable.

He wakes up and performs his morning rituals of brush teeth, shower, dress. He slips a gun into the back of his jeans then walks down to the small Bethlehem Diner, where the old, rigid waitress who refuses to hide her distaste for Sam serves him his coffee and plain bagel. When he's done, he walks back to the motel room, inhales almost half a bottle of whiskey, to lower his already lowered inhibitions, and begins practicing.

After about two hours of practicing, he walks around the motel room, checking the salt lines and the pentagrams he has drawn. He cleans Dean's guns. He wipes down the knives. He checks all the locks and rebolts the door.

He sleeps for an hour, bypasses lunch, then gets up and works out for a bit; runs around the motel room, jumping jacks, crunches, pushups. Sleeps again for a bit, because he needs his rest in order to practice like this, so that he has strength to keep going. After he gets up this time, he grabs a blade and a gun, walks out the room, after rechecking the salt lines, and makes his way to the warehouse.

He looks over Dean, makes sure the formaldehyde is working, that there's no frostbite or decaying flesh. Then he spends some time talking to Dean, telling him about his day, not that it ever changes.

He goes back to motel after redoing the salt lines in the warehouse and locking up. He spends another hour training, then reads more in the book. If his headache isn't too bad, he'll read late into the night. After a week since he got the book back from the library, he finishes it and thinks about everything he's learned. So much information that would have been so useful to him and his brother when they were hunting. But he doesn't let the regret or shame seep into his hardened soul.

Then he sleeps and begins again.

*

He always knew deep down he still had the abilities. But he couldn't indulge in them, no, not ever. Dean wouldn't want him to.

But now there's nothing Dean can do.

*

The first ability he works on and _really, truly_ masters, to the point where he doesn't feel any pain at all afterwards, are the visions. He takes control of them, and after a few days of laborious training, he can summon them, call upon them to help him see things and into people. Now, they don't just show him when someone's going to die. Now he can see their actions, what they plan on doing.

Now he'll never have to guess his foe or minion's intentions.

*

The next ability he works on is the telekinesis. It doesn't take as long as the visions, but after the training, he's always left in more pain. The first time he lifts a gun into the air and waves it back and forth with very minimal pain, he smiles.

He walks in front of the mirror and the gun wavers almost unnoticeably by his head, by his temple where he has it resting. He stares at his reflection and thinks about how ironic, how poetic, it would be if he pulled the trigger with his mind and killed himself, how easy it would be. Suicide alone would send him to Hell.

But then he thinks about Dean sitting in the warehouse by himself, about Dean's soul in Hell. He thinks about his dad who died saving Dean, and Dean who died saving Sam. He thinks about his mom who he doesn't know because she too died saving Sam. He thinks about Jess who died because of Sam. He thinks about all the hunters who died trying to kill Sam and all the hunters who died trying to save him.

He thinks about how undeserving he is to die so painlessly and quickly when everyone else's death was brutal and he thinks about how undeserving he is to live. He thinks about what he's planning to do and how if this plan works…

He puts down the gun.

*

When he works on the…_mind-reading and mind-control_, he practices first in the confines of his motel room. When he realizes he can't really tell if it's working or not, he goes to the diner more often and practices on the customers and the waitresses.

He listens to their thoughts first; disgusting, vile, crazy thoughts. Then he makes them do things.

He makes one of the waitresses drop a tray of coffee and eggs and bacon and pancakes she was carrying. The glass shatters and the food splatters and everyone in the diner is rushing to help her clean it up without nicking herself on the glass shards but Sam just sits there smiling.

It works.

*

After he masters the first three abilities, the next one is the hardest yet: self-healing.

It's the most painful too, because it hurts before he starts and afterwards.

He takes Dean's favorite knife, the blade he used sleep with under his pillow, and traces a beautiful, sacred red line down is forearm. He concentrates, focusing through the pain of the cut for his skin to grow back together. He almost gives up when the headache begins, thinks about screwing this to Hell and getting up and cleaning up the wound the easy way. But he keeps going and after about 7 minutes of the agonizing pain, when he's thinking he's going to bleed out because of the wound, slowly, he feels his skin meshing back together.

Another two minutes later and there's no cut, no scar, no evidence at all that Sam just dug a line into his arm that would have killed him easily in about twelve minutes.

*

The healing is one of the most important ability Sam practices. But after three weeks of all this training, Sam realizes it's not enough. The visions, the telekinesis, the mind control, the healing, they're not enough for his plan. They're just useful assets that'll aid him in the long run.

What he needs is true power.

*

By day 27, he's mastered fire, can set things on fire from close and far range. Big fires too.

*

By day 30, he's getting quicker at mastering abilities. He realizes on day 30 that he as much faster reflexes. Probably attained speed through the amount of training he's been doing.

*

There's one ability he's always wanted to tinker with, and he begins experimenting with it on day 31. On day 37, he's gotten to the point where he can go back 12 minutes.

He figures he'll have plenty of _time_ to train for this ability later.

*

On day 38, he realizes he has enough power and ability to begin the last stage of his plan. It's worked so far, and he almost prays his plan continues to hold out. _Almost_ prays but doesn't.

Because if it doesn't work, it's not because of God.

*

No one but Sam can tell you how it happens because no one is actually there to witness it. And in the aftermath of it all, anyone and everyone who might be able to piece it together is either dead or possessed.

*

Wednesday, July 2nd , 2008, 48 days since Dean Winchester's death. Earth's population: 6,439,594,728 people.

Sunday, July 6th , 2008, 52 days Since Dean Winchester's death. Earth's population: 1,849,534,403 people. 4,343,256,922 demons.

246,803,403 bodies dead and incinerated.

Every hunter is dead or possessed. Including Bobby Singer.

Celebrities like Britney Spears, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, and other Hollywood A-listers as well as other stars around the world are all dead.

Political icons such as George W. Bush, Nicholas Sarkozy, Queen Elizabeth II, Horst Köhler, and other world leaders are dead.

The rest of the world is possessed by demonic forces. The werewolves and vampires that once roamed cities' streets across the world are dead. The djinns, wendigos, skinwalkers, shapeshifters, and other beasts were also part of the body count Sam Winchester burned.

Alive.

Many of the truly evil spirits from Hell now roam freely on earth. The one spirit who's not?

Lillith.

*

Sam looks out across the city of Paris, or what's left of it. He sees the fires everywhere, some he created and didn't put out, and some his demons started. In the distance, he sees the Eifel Tower, once so proud, but now broken and tipped on its side. He smiles, his white teeth glinting as they catch a reflection from a nearby burning building.

He turns around and closes his eyes. When he opens them, he's in London. But it looks the same as Paris, as everywhere else; burning and smothering in the heat of Sam's anger, Sam's passion.

He closes his eyes once more, and this time he's in a once elaborate and elegant corporate room in upstate New York. Now it serves as his true home.

He hears a noise coming from the next room and walks inside. It's pitch black, the electricity long since gone out, but he doesn't need it. His grin is feral as he sets a small corner of the room on fire, illuminating it limitedly.

He walks forward a few steps and bends down, looking his brother straight in the eye.

Dean's arms and legs are bound behind him, his tied wrists also tied to a long column in the back of the room. The once beautiful, important conference room now holds as a cell for Dean.

His mouth gagged and grimy, he struggles against his confines, pulling and yanking on them to free himself. Sam continues to chuckle lightly. Finally he tells Dean to _'Shut the fuck up!'_ and Dean momentarily falls silent.

Sam tells him again about how everything he's done is for Dean, that this is how much he loves Dean; Sam was, _is_, willing to destroy the world for him. Dean begins struggling, but Sam's grown tired of it. He gets up from his perch at the end of Dean's legs. He walks back to the door, turns around just before he leaves and says over his shoulder, reminds Dean again, that Sam'll free him when he gives in and admits defeat. 'It's over,' is what he's really saying. He clicks off the light, and begins patrolling the different cities again. He ends up in Venice eventually, and for a second, thinks about the times he used to dream of coming to Venice someday, how he dreamed of taking Jess there for his honeymoon and then later, after she had died, thought about visiting with his brother; not that Dean would ever go.

A wave of nostalgia passes over him. But then he thinks about Dean being back, about Sam's immortality after he consumed more demon blood into his body so that it couldn't start decaying later on and how he did that with Dean's body too, and the nostalgia gets pushed aside. This is his life now. This is the _world_ now. Bloody, broken, burning. And all because of Sam. But Sam feels no guilt, and any other once human emotion he had is gone, left him hollow inside. And still Sam doesn't regret it. Any part of it. Somewhere off in the distance, he hears a scream and he knows he could…

He ignores it.

*


	3. Oh How Your Blood Runs

**Title**: Oh How Your Blood Runs...So Warm, So Red, So Thick  
**Chapter**: 3/3  
**Rating:** Mild R  
**Pairing:** Gen  
**Warning:** Violence. Evil!Sam. No spoilers for this segment.  
**Summary:**: _He was in Heaven. Light poured everywhere, almost blinding him, but the warmth, the tender warmth encasing his body was wonderful. He felt as though he were floating..._  
**Disclaimer:** Clever way of saying it's not mine...

* * *

"Sam! _Sam!_" Dean shouts but he knows Sam won't hear. Well, he'll hear, but he won't listen. Won't listen to anything Dean screams.

He struggles, his wrists, legs, back, he feels drops of something thick and sticky running down them; sweat, blood. Tears run down his face, mingling with the sweat first then joining with the blood that's gathered around his mouth from biting his tongue and gnawing the inside of his cheek.

He's dirty, disgusting, sitting in his own shit and vomit. His legs have long since passed being asleep, now they're painfully numb. When he shifts around he has to squeeze his eyes shut and clench his jaw tightly to keep the screams in. He brokenly ignores the pain the best he can and still attempts to escape the bonds holding him.

But the physical pain he feels is nothing, _nothing_ compared to the gut wrenching emotions he feels, knowing that Sam, his own _brother_ did this to him; is doing this to him.

Holding him captive like some kind of animal, caged like a monster. The worst part is that Sam feels no regret; no remorse, nothing. He feels nothing.

***

Sam can do so much now. He can hear things from miles away if he focuses; can teleport himself to anywhere he wants with a single thought, can hear the thoughts of almost any living thing. He can even shift around time, but that's just…that's something else entirely.

Sam is a demi-God on earth.

The one thing he can't do though, is wash the blood off his hands.

The blood of so many innocents, even his own brother's blood has been smeared across his hands.

The fires that burn the cities are beautiful, lighting up the world like a bright, luminous candle in a dark room. He loves walking down the streets every now and then and feel the warmth of the flames dance on his skin. It feels wonderful, almost like the very sun on his back.

He just wishes Dean would stop being so stubborn so they could feel the warmth together.

Eventually, one of them will break though, and it sure as Hellfire won't be Sam.

Right now, Sam's sitting in an old ante-chamber with a door leading to a conference room on the other side, the same conference room where Dean is currently taking up residence. Sam sits on a dark leather reclining chair, made of ebony leather and made darker still by the blood of previous occupants.

He reclines with his elbow propped up on the armrest, his head cradled in his hand, while listening to Dean shouting profanities at him through the door, somehow knowing Sam's there and listening.

They've been through this routine before. Sam listens through the door as Dean first shouts obscene things about Sam, cursing and spewing nasty things about him. Then he'll move on to desperate, pathetic begging, pleading for Sam to let him out, let him go, and that Dean understands now why Sam's doing the things he's doing. Of course Sam knows he doesn't. He also knows Dean knows Sam doesn't care either.

He waits a few minutes, as Dean's pleading dwindles down until finally, his voice cracks and stops altogether. His eyes closed, Sam lets out a deep sigh before pushing himself out of the chair and making his way to the door. It's locked but when he steps up to it it opens almost of its own accord, opening up to a dark room.

As light spills in, he sees Dean's figure in the corner, cowering from the sudden intrusion of the brightness. Sam's smile is feral as he stalks towards Dean.

"Sammy…" his name spills from Dean's lips and something trills in Sam's gut at the sound.

"Oh Dean," Sam stutters. He stops a few feet from where Dean's all but sprawled and crouches down onto his haunches, rolling backwards and forwards on his heels in a fake pleasant manner.

There's so much blood and other fluids smeared around the ground where Dean is and Sam's careful not to accidently come in contact with it, doesn't feel up to having more of Dean's essence on his body where it'll never wash away.

He stares into his brother's eyes. Bloodshot from lack of sleep, his face pale and sweaty, grease and grime smudged across his cheeks. A drop of spittle seeps out of the corner of his mouth. Sam leans forward, reaches out his hand and wipes the dribble from Dean's chin with his thumb. A long time ago, Dean probably would have reacted in some way to the unwelcome contact but now he just has no energy. Being held captive by your brother can do that.

"Dean," he starts again, "dude, when are you going to get it through your small head? I can't let you go man. We're brothers remember? Brothers stick out for each other."

"They d-don't…" Dean starts but has to take a deep breath, now completely wiped out from his earlier screaming session, "tie each…other uuuup-" He stops and starts coughing, his bruised and battered and sore throat protesting.  
"And take…the…take over the…world."

Sam just smiles and Dean shudders because there's nothing pleasant in the look at all.

"How many times have we been over this? I did this for you." Sam doesn't really think Dean's going to understand this time, considering how many times they've had this conversation.

"L-liar…"

Sam stutters for a second. This is new, Dean's never said something like that before.

"Y-you did it…all," he stops again and shuts his eyes tightly, wincing. "All fer…yers'lf…self'sh bas…tard." Dean's eyes relax, no longer clenched tightly, indicating he had fallen asleep, or more likely, passed out.

Sam's head falls forward, exasperated. He springs up, throws his head back and rubs his face with his hands, digging his palms into his eyes in order to dispel the sudden headache forming behind his eyes.

He's not sure whether to be amused or pissed off at Dean's comment, calling him a selfish bastard. He settles on amusement, turns around and walks out of conference room, the door shutting closed and locking itself as he passes through.

***

He was in Heaven. Light poured everywhere, almost blinding him, but the warmth, the tender warmth encasing his body was wonderful. He felt as though he were floating, gliding on a soft cloud with tendrils of comfort caressing his face. Wisps of something flew past his face. He turned his head, sluggishly almost as though he were drugged, but that wasn't possible, considering he felt lucid enough.

As his gaze shifted, he had to squint, the light seemingly getting brighter. His eyes focused on something. A face…

He stared harder, his gaze sharpening as details began forming in his mind: clear blue eyes gazing into his own, high, round cheek bones, the softest of pink lips curved in a small smile, strands of golden hair framing a glowing face.

"Mom…" He choked out, his voice cracking. His breath caught as her smile only widened, although a regretful, wistful look was placed in her eyes. "_Mom_…why?" His voice broke, catching as a sob escaped.

"Why can't I get through to him? Why won't he…_listen_ to me? What's _wrong_ with me?" Tears fell from his eyes, his shoulders wracking as he openly wept.

"Dean."

He was a failure. He had tried to save his brother once, bring him back from the dead but it wasn't enough. Why wasn't it _enough_?

"_Dean_."

How could it have gone so wrong? How could Sam have fallen so far, be broken so irreparably to the point even Dean couldn't save him from?

"_Dean_!"

His mother's face flickered for a second, distorting in an ugly manner as a grimace graced her features. The face changed, all around the light was receding as darkness poured in. Soon his mother's face was nothing but a dark reflection in murky water as he soon became unable to notice the little details on her face. Smudging away, like a watering image.

"_DEAN!_"

His mother's face completely gone, now replaced by…Sam's.

"You can't just go running away Dean. You have to face up to this eventually. I have…" Sam's voice whispered.

It was the last thing Dean heard before the darkness completely enveloped him.

***

Anger flares in Sam when he sees Dean in his mind's eye. Sam never got a reprieve from the nightmare the world had become, so why should Dean?

Sam never slept at night; there was no need for sleep. Not only could he not fall asleep but he doubted even he could he would dream anything pleasant, if he would dream at all. So in that he considered himself lucky.

Dean on the other hand… he was always sleeping, as though his life was wasting away, which it was, but that was beside the point.

Sometimes Sam had to wonder about what would happen next. There's nothing left now, literally and figuratively. Would he spend the next eternity here on earth, ruling a world consumed by fire and death and ash, the remnants of lives once lived? Would he forever spend his life walking through and patrolling the activities of deranged demons with his brother as his captive?

When he put things in such a perspective, it was the only time Sam ever felt any inkling of fear. But then he flipped around. Better forever on earth than forever in Hell, right?

Then again, maybe in Hell Dean wouldn't be so opposed to the stench of wasting flesh since at least it belonged there.

Either way, Sam had nowhere to escape the terror they lived in, but Dean did. Every now and then, Dean would fall into that dream, the one with their mother haloed in bright, beautiful light that made Sam sick when he saw it in his mind. So every time, Sam lets Dean bask in it for a while, listening to the tortured mind of Dean's subconscious before Sam pulls him roughly out of it.

After all, they're brothers. They have to be on the same level, don't they?

***

Things finally change on a Wednesday.

Sam's had enough. He's waited a long time, been patient with his brother to come around but his brother's stubborn nature has taken things too far.

He thought if he kept Dean bound long enough he would eventually come to see things in a new light, see things the way Sam does. He thought it would be enough to break his spirit but he was wrong. If anything, the months that Dean's spent in confinement have done nothing besides turning him into an empty, hollow shell.

Dean hardly ate anymore. He slept, he occasionally wept. His eyes would close and a few tears would escape but he still didn't speak, made no sound save the whimpers that were let loose when the pain of being down in one position became too much.

Sam would cry if he had a soul to care but not anymore. Nothing touched him anymore, allowed him to feel anything except anger and sometimes pleasure.

So one Wednesday, one fateful Wednesday, he finally decides to let Dean go.

He walks into the room Dean's in and walks straight towards him. Dean makes absolutely no movement. Doesn't flinch, doesn't even twitch as Sam stalks in his direction.

There's no fancy hand waving, no magic words. The special bonds holding his hands and feet together just slip away and as they do, Dean falls forward, instantly stopped from hitting the ground by an invisible force of Sam's.

Dean's eyes close as the force folds around him and holds him gently, almost lovingly, caressing his sides and battered body. It lifts him up and floats him behind Sam as he makes his way out of the room.

They make it out and the door closes behind them, shutting for the last time. It's never opened again.

It's the first time in weeks, months, Dean's been outside and not confined. Sam floats him onto a futon placed in the middle of another room they come into. The room is illuminated in a dusky glow from a fire glowing in a fireplace in the corner of the room.

When Dean's mind clears of the fog that had taken over, he notices that Sam is standing at the edge of the futon and staring at him.

Dean lifts his head unsteadily, slightly disoriented. "What's…g-going on Sammy?"

Sam just smiles.

He leans down, placing his hand on Dean's leg, gripping it tightly and Dean has to stop himself from wincing as pins spike down his leg. Sam's smile grows as Dean's unease plays across his face clearly.

"Relax." Sam edges further towards his brother, now placing a hand on each leg. His hands begin to warm, heat seeping through the filthy trousers Dean's wearing.

Dean feels a tendril of fear lick down his spine, thinking that Sam's going to kill him now, by slowly and painfully burning his flesh off his skeletal body.

"Not quite." Sam says with a light chuckle.

Heat continues to spread through Dean's legs, but he realizes the warmth isn't burning him. It's…healing him.

It feels wonderful, as loathe as Dean is to admit it. The stiffness and paining aches dissipate as the heat pours across his calves and makes its way up through his knees, along his thigh muscles, relaxing and soothing the tense cramping that had formed there and never left.

"W-why?" Dean groans out.

Sam remains silent, his face passive, and his stance stoic as he continues his ministrations. Dean can't help the moan that gets out as a particularly tense cramp is loosened.

"Tha-"

"Don't." Sam interrupts. "I'm not doing this for you."

Dean's eyes once again close, but he's definitely not falling asleep now. As the pain begins to fade he's allowed the lucidity of mind to think about other things. Like that fact that he hasn't showered in probably months. That there's blood and other grime covering his body. That his clothes are so tattered and filthy a garbage dump probably looks and smells cleaner.

None of this seems to faze Sam; he doesn't even blink as he leans closer to inch his hands higher up Dean's legs in order to loosen the knots closer to Dean's knees.

"Then…why?" Dean chokes out.

Sam stops the movement of his hands on Dean and looks at Dean's face, although he can't see the look with his eyes still closed.

"Because you're my brother."

Dean's breath catches. He ruminates over the words through his mind, sinking into them. The same words Sam's been using for so long, but they sound different now, somehow fuller. Without the pain clouding his senses, Dean's feels something stir within him.

His eyes open as he painstakingly pushes himself up onto his elbows. His eyes narrow as they set onto the look in Sam's eyes; anger begins to dull through Dean's vision as tears of frustration fill his eyes and distort the edges of the room.

He feels rage building in his gut and soon he can't contain it.

"Fuck you Sam!" Dean has the sudden urge to kick his brother's face in, until the smug look caves into his skull.

His lips snarl as the smugness only increases.

"You disgust me Sam," he rasps, his throat scratchy from lack of use. "You're not my _brother_. You're just another piece of demon scum." Unsurprisingly, Sam's eyes darken at this, the smug smile replaced with a hateful look that normally would have had Dean shrinking backwards into his own skin, but now only fuels his own anger.

"Shut. Up. _Dean_." His teeth are grinding, jaw clenched as though he's physically holding himself back from attacking Dean right there.

"Or what? You'll kill me?" Dean spits out.

His eyes continue to narrow, but Sam's mouth turns up in a cruel smile. "Why would I kill you when I worked so hard to save you?"

"Please Sam. I can't-" he chokes, a sob of desperation, of fear, interrupting. He feels like he's dying inside. A pain, so deep, so emotional and laced with the physical pains of his battered body sets in.

"Please…I can't do th-this anymore…just…please Sammy…"

More tears. When will the tears end, he has to wonder.

Sam pulls back and stands up, walking away from Dean but still in his line of vision. He starts pacing as he speaks again.

"See, the thing is man, I let you go? And all those sons of bitches out there will be on you like flies on meat." He stops pacing and sends a hard look towards Dean. "You think you've got things bad, Dean? Imagine a thousand hands grabbing at you, pulling your limbs off your body. Imagine having your tongue cut out and your mouth sewn _shut_ so no blood spills out.

"They'll tear your ears off; shove your nose in; saw your arms and legs off. You'll be nothing but a pile of bloody meat, when they're through with you, Dean. But you'll be alive, and you'll have your eyes so that you can watch them _devour_ the flesh off your body like vultures from a dead carcass." He pauses, as though to let the words sink in. "You really want that for yourself Dean?"

"I'd rather _die_ at the hands of demons than at the hands of you."

"You say that now-"

"Go. Fuck. Yourself." Dean falls back, what little energy he had mustered quickly dissipating.

Suddenly, his hands are pulled by an invisible force to his sides, pinned there. His legs lock, unable to move, to thrash like he wants. Panic wells in his chest as he realizes Sam's got him completely at his mercy.

Something pierces where his stomach is. It feels like a sharpened stake has punctured through every vital organ near his bowels. He wants to see if there's any blood pouring out, but whatever is holding down his arms and legs is pinning his head back as well. As the pain only increases, Dean can do nothing but throw his head back, a howl of pain let loose.

He used to scream for his brother. Now he just screams.

'_And so begins eternity with Dean_', Sam thinks with a wry smile.

***


End file.
